I Found Love

I Found Love Written by Charles N Okere Prologue/Episode 1 She was the first girl to see me naked. We were eight years old, playing husband and wife in the carefree innocence of childhood. Even then, I sensed something extraordinary in the way we connected, as if Amarachi and I were destined for each other—a perfect fit. So when her family moved away, I held onto a quiet certainty that fate would reunite us. Ten years later, it did. Of all the cafeterias in the university, she walked into mine. I was studying law, she was pursuing English, and our reunion sparked a romance that felt like a dream. Amarachi was the most captivating woman on campus, and I was the fortunate man by her side. We slipped effortlessly back into our childhood game of husband and wife, but this time, it was real. Every moment with her was electric, our chemistry a force stronger than love itself. I prayed it would last forever. But life, as I would learn, is rarely so kind. A devastating surprise was waiting just steps ahead, poised to transform my magical dream into a waking nightmare. It was my final year at the Nigerian Law School in Enugu, and I was 23. The day was April 1st—Amarachi’s birthday. I planned an unannounced trip to Abuja to surprise her and celebrate together. That morning, as I prepared for a lecture, my phone buzzed with a text from her. A breakup text. I chuckled, dismissing it as an April Fool’s prank. Lectures ran unusually late that day, but nothing could deter me from boarding a bus to Abuja that evening. As I stood at the bus station, my phone rang. It was Amarachi. Her voice was cold, final. “It’s over, Chibuike. I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Forget everything we had.” The call ended abruptly, leaving me frozen, my phone still pressed to my ear. Confusion swirled in my mind, but I boarded the bus anyway, clutching my backpack as if it held my resolve. We arrived in Abuja at 9:35 p.m. Too late to find a hotel, I took a taxi straight to Amarachi’s apartment in Maitama. When she opened the door, wrapped in a white towel, her eyes widened in shock. We stood in silence, staring at each other, the weight of her words hanging between us. “Chibuike, what are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice low and strained. “I told you it’s over. You need to leave.” “I need to hear it from you,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Look me in the eyes and tell me it’s over.” She sighed, exasperated. “For God’s sake, Chibuike, are you dense? I sent you a text. I called you. What more do you need? Please, leave before my fiancé sees you.” The word fiancé hit like a thunderbolt. I stared at her, mouth agape, struggling to process her words. “Your… fiancé?” “Yes,” she snapped. “I’m engaged to the vice president’s son. This isn’t personal, Chibuike. It’s just… how things are.” I tried to step inside, desperate for answers, but she pushed me back. “You did nothing wrong, okay? But I’m moving on. You should too.” Her words cut deeper than I could have imagined. When I reached for her shoulder, she recoiled as if my touch were poison. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled, her voice echoing in the quiet hallway. “Please, Amarachi,” I pleaded softly. “It’s late. I don’t know anyone else in Abuja. Can I just stay the night?” “You should’ve thought of that before showing up unannounced,” she retorted. “My fiancé is in the bathroom waiting for me. Take your bags and leave.” With that, she slammed the door in my face. I stood there, staring at the closed door, my heart splintering. The pain of her betrayal reshaped me, hardening my view of love and women. I vowed never to let anyone hurt me like that again. Seven Years Later My name is Chibuike, and at 30, I’m a successful lawyer, celebrated for winning high-profile cases and known for my philanthropy. Yet, my personal life tells a different story. I’ve turned down countless women, many introduced through dating apps by my well-meaning colleagues—Smart, Peter, and Charles. They find it unfathomable that a young, wealthy bachelor like me remains unattached. After relentless teasing (including an absurd accusation of being gay), I confided in them about Amarachi’s betrayal. They sympathized but urged me to move on. “Love is a beautiful thing,” Charles often said. “Give it another chance.” I ignored their advice, but they never stopped trying to pull me back into the world of romance. One Friday evening, Peter and I visited a luxurious club in Lekki, a hotspot for Lagos’ elite—business tycoons, celebrities, and government officials. Smart and Charles, both happily married, stayed home with their families, a reminder of the freedom I still cherished as a bachelor. Peter and I settled into a plush couch, sipping drinks and enjoying the vibrant atmosphere. A waitress had just taken our order when a woman approached. She wore a sleek, black dress that hugged her curves, paired with striking blue Jimmy Choo heels. Her dark skin glowed under the club’s lights, her smile revealing sparkling white teeth. “Hello, handsome,” she said, sipping brandy as she sat beside me. I glanced at Peter, expecting support, but to my dismay, he grinned mischievously and excused himself to the bar. Traitor, I thought. “Hi,” I said reluctantly. “Good evening.” Silence stretched between us until she leaned closer, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Are you a baby?” I blinked, caught off guard. “That’s… an odd question. Why do you ask?” “You’re acting like one,” she teased, picking up my glass and sipping from it without hesitation. “Hasn’t a woman ever drunk from your glass before? You’re acting like a nervous teenager. Relax, it’s a privilege most men would kill for.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re funny, you know that?” “Whatever,” she said with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’m Jane.” “Chibuike,” I replied. “And Jane, that’s a lovely name for a ravishing woman.” She blushed, her confidence softening for a moment. “Thank you.” Emboldened, I teased, “So, Jane, what’s a kid like you doing in a place for adults? Do your parents know you’re here?” Her jaw dropped, then she burst into laughter. “You’re crazy! I’m not that young.” We were hitting it off when six imposing men in military uniforms, armed with AK-74 rifles, approached our table. The club’s lively hum faded as their leader spoke. “Ma’am, we’re here to escort you home.” Jane sighed, standing gracefully. “Chibuike, it was nice meeting you. I have to go.” I stood too, curious. “Do you know these men?” “Yes,” she said with a wry smile. “They’re my father’s personal guards.” “Your father?” I asked, intrigued. “Is he a politician? A government official?” She paused, her smile widening. “My father is the Chief of Army Staff.” Before I could respond, she waved and left with the soldiers. The club, once buzzing, was now nearly empty. Peter was nowhere to be seen. Some friend, I muttered, recalling his namesake’s biblical betrayal. Minutes later, Peter reappeared, apologizing profusely. “I didn’t mean to ditch you, man. I stepped out before the soldiers showed up.” As we prepared to leave, I noticed a diamond bracelet on the floor, engraved with Jane’s name. I picked it up, slipping it into my pocket. To be continued… © Charles N Okere